Coal For Christmas
by MadBat27
Summary: A different, seasonal take on Batman. Bruce Wayne has a job to do, but does the justice he metes out on his nocturnal excursions make any difference?
1. Chapter 1

"Master Bruce. The time is upon us."

Bruce opened his eyes just as the burgundy drapes rattled open, and the glare of sunlight, reflected off sheets of snow, flooded his vision. Wincing, he heaved himself up and out of bed. Every bone in his body ached, every muscle burned. It seemed like he'd only just retired to his chambers. Still, he felt the chill draft of a morning about his ankles; although quite what made it different to the usual icy currents of air whispering around Wayne Manor, he couldn't say. It was somehow fresher, sharper. It clawed at him, like a cat demanding attention.

Fine, he thought solemnly. You have my attention. I will do my duty.

A dreamless sleep had engulfed him from the moment his head had hit the pillow, as it always did, and once again he felt the pang of sorrow and regret for having life pass him by. It was difficult to remember the last time he'd read a newspaper, listened to current events on the radio, or even glances at a televised news report. The world could have changed a thousand ways since last he'd seen it.

Why then, did he doubt it had changed for the better.

His nighttime excursions found him confronted, more and more, by men and and women of disturbed mind and peculiar character. He had hoped, in the beginning, that his presence, his work, would motivate people to change their ways. To be better, to make their world a better place. But all those tomorrows had come to pass, and if anything had changed for the better, Bruce had not yet witnessed it for himself.

Bruce stood at the window and gazed out into the frozen wasteland. Ice and snow for miles around, in every direction, an endless white space, with an avalanche sky threatening every moment to crash down on top of him and bury him under the weight of his own futility. At least then he could sleep.

"You haven't brought me breakfast," Bruce observed.

"I took the liberty of conveying your meal directly to the refuse. I thought it might expedite the process of your continued self-imposed starvation. After all, I see no reason the mice should go hungry too."

"We have mice?" Bruce jibed.

Alfred's raised eyebrow seemed to take on a sharper edge.

It was fascinating to Bruce how much the older man could convey with that one single expression. The butler turned on his heel, and left silently. Ever stalwart, Alfred Pennyworth was always there waiting, with food, or medicine, or a steadying hand. Whatever the situation required. Were the days long and painful for him, Bruce pondered, anxiously anticipating his nocturnal escapades? Or were they welcome respites?

Grimly, Bruce descended from the second floor, down the winding staircase, through endless labyrinthine corridors, through the study and the trophy room, to the secret passage in the East Wing of the manor house. The clock chimed at the appointed time, and the mahogany panel slid open, reaving yet another staircase leading down, far beneath, to the depths of the cavern.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred was waiting for him, seemingly unperturbed by the low temperatures. He remained in little more than his usual attire; the only difference, a red and green scarf around his neck. His breath revealed itself in short puffs of grey, but he neither shivered nor braced against the cold, nor even rubbed his hands for warmth. As Bruce approached, he produced the customary uniform for such occasions, and Bruce reluctantly slipped into his suit.

Down below, the sound of hammers and saws echoed in a tumultuous roar of productivity. Power Tools hummed and buzzed, toolboxes rattled and clattered. Urgent shouts interrupted the din from time to time, and behind it all was the steady rhythm of a giant clock - a keepsake from his early career.

Bruce hated the sound almost as much as the pantomime villain, Captain Hook. It filled him with that same sense of dread, that same fear of the inevitable. Like Hook's perennial fate, Bruce's fall into the dark bowels of evil came ineluctably with every performance. Right from the outset, the conclusion was forgone.

Together, he and Alfred made the steady trek down the frosty trail. Icicles dripped from the cavern walls, and snowdrift wafted in through the cracks, and fell in a soft flurry, dancing in and out of the glow of electric lights.

The sight ahead was as mesmerising now as it ever was. Makeshift workshops of gingerbread, alternating with igloos adorned with candy canes and bunting. Fir trees in large pots lined the walkway, and star-shaped lights glowed overhead every hundred yards. The street of this makeshift Christmas village bustled with a riot of red and green, as the eager workers hurried to make the finishing touches on all their work.

With Bruce's approach, however, the workshop came to a standstill. Slowly a hush spread across the expanse, tools were laid down, plans put aside, frustrated demands trailed off mid-sentence. Alfred smiled warmly at the crowd, and cleared his throat as a prompt.

"Hello, Robins."

The figures gazed up at him with obvious adoration, their eyes gleaming in the shade of the green hoods. Their chests were red, their backs covered with flowing black cloaks. Some of them wore breathing apparatus over their mouths, and many wore goggles to cover their eyes, but even these protective measures couldn't hide their admiration.

One boy, no more than twelve, stepped forward. Strands of loose thread and fluff clung to his suit, and he had a piece of cloth filled with pins tucked into his belt. In his hands, he carried a doll. It was orange in hue, like a large cheese string, with googly eyes and a tuft of yellow hair. A black faux leather jacket had been sewed to its body.

Bruce took the doll, and examined it from head to toe, inspecting every seam.

"Good work."

"They all meet specifications," said an older, taller boy as the front of the crowd. "I made sure of that."

"You've done well, Dick," Bruce said and the young man beamed.

"We left Jason and Damien in charge of the other assignment."

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he reported this, and the younger boy smirked, as if they shared an inside joke. Bruce furrowed his brow, and instinctively he knew that Alfred's had arched in shared sentiment. Wasting no time, they moved through the crowds of Robins, who bowed and waved as the men passed.

On the lowest level of the cavern, a custom Waynetech drill mined for coal deep underneath the manor. It was one of Alfred's greatest fears that one day, sooner than they liked to admit, the cave would collapse in on itself, and the manor above, and the Wayne Family's legacy, would tumble down into the endless abyss.

As they neared the platform, they heard raised voices, squabbling.

"I'm sorry, you must be at least this high to have an opinion."

"I rather think that the one true heir would have a greater say in matters of business than…"

Damien trailed off as the men arrived, his face dropping.

"You've done it now, kid," Jason said out of one side of his mouth.

Both boys were covered in soot and coal dust, coating every inch of skin, and every stitch of clothing. Damien's face, under the blackness, was tinged red with anger and frustration, and while Jason's expression was one of relaxed condescension, his taut body language told a different story altogether.

"Is it ready?"

"It's not loaded yet, because-"

"Because this simpleton you dragged in off the streets-"

"-thanks to the bat's constant meddling-"

"-entirely incapable of even the most basic-"

"That's enough."

Bruce's voice reverberated around the cave, booming with authority, and the two boys fell silent. They were more alike than they would ever admit. If they could only learn to work together, instead of against each other, they would be unstoppable. They could achieve anything they put their minds to.

"We have a mission here, tonight," he reminded them. "People out there are counting on us. This is more important that your individual egos. Everything has to go smoothly. You, both of you, are invaluable to me. This assignment is crucial in the completion of our task. I'm counting on you. So put aside your differences, and get the job done. Whatever it takes."

Bruce glared at them silently, until the two boys looked suitably chastised and uncomfortable. Then he turned on his heel, his cape swishing behind him, and marched away, toward the deepest depths of the cave, directly underneath the study.

Behind them, the two boys had gone back to squabbling, but far more half-heartedly this time, merely muttering insults at each other under their breath as they worked.

"Heirhead."

"Hoodlum."

Nevertheless, Bruce remained confident they would finish in time. He had, afterall, unwavering faith in everyone in his inner circle. Almost everyone, anyway. There was one, a single bad penny so to speak, who sometimes aroused his suspicions. Half the time, he was as reliable as any man Bruce had ever met. Dependable, loyal, hard-working, honorable, well-intentioned.

But the other half…


End file.
